Under the Carver's Knife
Under the Carver's Knife is a short story following the Skakdi that is found imprisoned. This story is an entry for Vorred's Writing Contest. Note: Feel free to write reviews/comments on the talk page, as I'm always looking to improve my writing. Story Introduction It will be seventy-seven years that I have been imprisoned in this horrible place as of tomorrow. Mind you, I remember each one of those horrid days and what led up to them. Those barbaric inhabitants of Farside Village completely misinterpreted my jurisdiction…my views on the island were the right ones, and I am disappointed to report that the villagers did not see them that way. All of my “monstrosities”, they call them, were uncovered by the one that got away…the one who slipped out from beneath my clutch. How it happened I am uncertain. I had him in my grip ever so strongly…and he escaped. For what seems like eternity, I have been driven to near-madness by scratching marks into stones in the area to keep track of the days…the weeks…the months…oh, the years…yes, we must talk about the years. The years that keep me locked up in this hellish prison. “Let’s lock up Kalvost…he’s a madman” or “Keep him behind the bars! He’s no one. He’s just another Skakdi.” The years that ridiculed me, mocked me…I will exact my revenge on those villagers one day. Imagine the solitude I have faced for seventy-seven years…no one ever cared to visit me, oh no. Never. But what got me here, you ask? I suppose you will take their sides, no doubt. Any Matoran willing to listen to the madman Kalvost is surely insane himself…but I will continue to tell my story none the less, as I have not spoken of it to anyone in a long, long time... Chapter 1: In the Hands of the Carver I recall the day as being moist and warm…not unbearably hot, but yet you could feel your perspiration beading up under your joints and on the surface of your skin…ah yes, skin…must we talk about that? I shall tell you more later…skin is of grave importance in how I got here…the largest organ plays a sad tune for those willing to listen, like me. Many of the villagers were swimming in Zhanti River to cool themselves off. I was new to this island…I had come from an atoll of landmasses that had recently flooded over…you’d remember it as the Pankari Storm…I was the only Skakdi to come to Farside Village, which I assume created the large masses of ridicule I faced. As I approached that beach which I found to be beautiful at the time, I saw one Matoran…Mycas I believe his name was…staring at me and laughing. Skakdi, you must realize, have a terrible temper. We do not tolerate those who make fun of our dispositions. No one ever recalls angering a Skakdi, and if they do, it is a falsity as we Skakdi do not allow those who witness our fury to recall it. It is simple logic, my friend. I fully recall the expression on his face when I came before his feet and looked down on him. It was something of fear, hidden by a certain charm I had seen once in a certain murderer whose name has managed to slip my mind at the moment. Of course, I lifted him up and wrapped my fingers around his throat…the sweet release of my anger taking away his meaningless, insignificant breaths as he squirmed helplessly in my grip. “Should you ever laugh at me again, villager, I’ll snap your neck.” I set him down. Not out of mercy, but so he could retain oxygen so I could watch him suffer in his own miserable way. He gagged as he struggled to breathe on the beach in a pitiful manner. If there was any sorrow in my heart, it probably escaped into my veins and out a minor scratch, as so little of it was present. “You…you psychopath!” “Psycho path? Is that what they are calling the road to insanity these days? I do believe I have travelled that road before, my dear villager.” I bent down with my blade in hand, “You don’t mind, do you?” “Do I mind what?” “This,” I said as I drew blood from his leg, lapping it up with my fingers and taking a swift lick to get the metallic taste smeared across my tongue. “You speak of this to no one. If the word spreads, every one of you on this beach is dead.” “I…I understand.” “That goes for all of you!” I shouted. “Tell anyone, and you’re Skakdi fodder!” They all shook in terror. Oh, terror. How I loved it, that sensation of power over these worthless lifeforms. They were mine now. All mine. They were in the hands of the carver, now. Chapter 2: Too Far Gone I recall this morning is being particularly crisp, almost palatably so. It was a day that those naive Matoran would’ve regarded as “lovely”. Of course, being a Skakdi didn’t help my opinion of such a day. I regard it as a day to remembered, as most incorrectly informed historians would tell you as well, however odd their version of the tale may be. As I made my way into the small village of Archasis, I saw one such historian studying in his hut, almost completely unaware of the dangers that lurked on this island. The kanak birds were singing cheerful songs - oh how I despise them. A lesser being than the Skakdi that received more respect than us in bucketloads. That rat’s nest hut was the first visit I made that splendid day. The historian was busy carving on a slab of the most worthless type of stone gathered at the Archasis Quarry, as the Matoran here were selfish and wanted to take all of the riches for themselves. He did not see me enter, which is why I credit myself with success on this mission. From behind, I grabbed one of his many chisels that lay precisely arranged from largest to smallest on the wooden shelf behind him. It was a large one, and it would do the job. I wrapped my arms outside of his neck - not touching him, that rat - and I centered the chisel onto his work, handle down. With my other hand, I grabbed his head and watched him panic. Oh, the sweet joy of another’s fear. As he realized what was going on, I eased his pathetic head down towards the chisel slowly, allowing him to rest the region between his eyes momentarily on its thin tip. There, I held him a few seconds...three...two...one. I pulled his head back and slammed it against the chisel as hard as I could (mind you, we Skakdi are extremely strong). The entire head of the chisel had penetrated his thin skull. Blood. Oh, the blood. Yes, I almost forgot to go into detail on that. How silly of me - blood is always the most fun in detail. His thick blood poured from where the chisel entered. I lapped it up with my tongue, the sweet coppery taste caressing my lovely pink oral organ. I grabbed all of his now-meaningless chisels and started scraping off his skin (I told you earlier that flesh would be an important part of my tale...let the rest of the story unfold), taking the scrapings and chewing them like black market Kikanalo jerky. Once I had finished, I licked off the abundant blood on my face. I grabbed the tablet he was working on and read it - the story was about me at the beach. If it had gotten out, I would have been done for. Wrapping a tight grip around the edges, I shattered it with a swift kick with my knee. Starved for the incredible flavor sensation the historian gave me, I gnawed on his arm, taking fleshy pieces off of his bony body. Before long, he was a bare-boned rat in his chair. The taste was all too much - I needed more. By this point, I was too far gone to look back. Chapter 3: Rot and Ruin That sound of rain - you know it, don’t you? Each small drop of water hitting against whatever surface lay at the end point of its trajectory. For me, it was a sound of assurance in these uncertain times - it brought gloom to those who preferred the sunny disposition of the island. Ah, yes, I told you already about how I loved other’s suffering, correct? If I haven’t, remind me to tell it to you sometime. It’s a story I never mind repeating to anyone, as it just rekindles my fond “emotion” of the sensation. But as we were saying...the rain. It was hitting against my makeshift scrap-metal shack that I had formed at least ten bio away from Archasis, where I could keep a good watch on the villagers without them knowing of my presence. By nightfall, the village would be in despair, and I would be well fed for several days, provided that my sweet tooth didn’t get the better of me and I consume more than the serving suggestion. It was with every bit of conscious effort in me that I held myself back from springing on those wretched beast Matoran to slay them and devour their sweet and meaty skins. Being an educated individual as myself, my wisdom aided me in this quest. While the early bird catches the worm, the patient one takes the entire tunnel system, and all of its assets. My tongue had most certainly become as wet with saliva as the ground around me with rain. Outside of my metal shack, I saw a Matoran entering the woods to gather something for the village - most likely those disgusting akan berries that those imbecile villagers were so fond of. I had resorted to eating them to dull my cravings to eat those infernal, moral-driven lunatics of Archasis. I pressed my body against the back of the structure so he wouldn’t see me. I popped my eye through a small hole in the rightmost panel. He was completely unaware that I was there. It was then that I sprung out, wrapped my right palm around his insignificant mouth, and I gripped his scrawny neck between my left elbow and bicep. “You be silent,” I told him. “Or you’ll never see your friends again.” Either way, he’d never be seeing his pals again. No need to keep him alive. I took him into my shack, where I bound his mouth shut with some rope I had weaved in my down time. To make sure my victim had an interesting time with me, I had rubbed the rope with Itching Root, which delivered a painful and itchy rash to wherever it touched the skin. Thankfully, Skakdi are immune to that joy of life. My knife was freshly sharpened, and I began to skin him alive as he attempted to scream as he ingested even more of the itching root. A Skakdi’s got a toothy grin, as I’m sure you know - but mine was twice as large as any other’s at this very moment. With little time left in his pitiful life, I sat on his throat to make breathing difficult. A round stone in my hut made the perfect tool in making him suffer. I hit him lightly on his skull at first, increasing each hit with more strength so he could feel every crack in his skull growing vastly larger with each blow to his forehead that I gave him. Finally, he drew his final breath in a slow, undignified manner - just as I had hoped. Dishonorable deaths were always my favorite to witness. One should never exit our world with dignity, especially of they are those wretched Matoran. My tongue began to twitch almost uncontrollably as I craved the blood that seeped from the gaping crack in his meager skull. Quickly, I lapped it up to get its sweet metallic tinge. Letting it sit there for a moment, I strictly recall a rush of adrenaline pumping through my body, almost as if someone had given me an incredible overdose of the bodily chemical. As I fulfilled my thirst for Matoran blood, I took some of my rope to tie around his neck. Oh, my job suited me well, and the benefits were certainly to my liking. The pay was ample, and it kept me going. In order to ensure I wouldn’t get caught, I peeped my eye outside that miserable little shack. It was clear. I scrambled up the tree quickly to hang my victim up. In order to erase all evidence I had ever been in the region, I dismantled my shabby shack, flattened the dirt and covered it with leaves, and walked away to find a new place for me to hide in the woods. I eventually came upon a small rock formation that formed a cave. The metal panels from my old hovel served as an excellent cover for the entrance to my hideaway. Ah, yes, the village of Archasis - I forgot to mention - is right in my line of sight, as the panel with the peephole allows me to see it as well as the hanging cadaver. Continuously, that glorious rain pounded, this time creating a more subtle sound atop the rocks I’d temporarily refer to as “home”. Small insects and arachnids scuttled about in my humble abode. With hunger in my stomach, I thoughtlessly snatched one of the rather plump and juicy looking starak spiders. A bitter taste overtook me for a moment as its fleshy body popped between my teeth, but a sudden sweet sensation wiped it away - I presume it was its thorax rather than its larger-scaled abdomen. Hours and hours passed as I sat waiting for nightfall. During this time, I tried to learn to enjoy the starak spiders, yet I could not get past their bitterness each time I shoved one into my mouth. At long last, a villager entered the forest, an axe in his hand. As he proceeded inwards, he took a step back, dropped his tool of choice, and let out a scream that will forever be engrained in my mind as one of the most splendid things my eardrums lay witness to. “Lazris is dead!” he yelled. “Lazris is dead!” How he recognized that skinned rat, I’ll never know. In my opinion, he looked better than any Matoran ever could. Oh, how I love the sorrow of others - it means my job is done well...it means I am truly something to fear. A pathetic crowd of seven Matoran gathered around the hanging corpse of Lazren...or was it Lazeron? Lazris! That was it. Lazris the hanging corpse. As I was saying, the crowd was standing around the body of Lazris (which, by the way, I pronounce ‘Loser’...am I the only one?). I drew my blade and prepared to strike. If I had a conscious, it would be screaming at me not to do what I was about to do. Thankfully, I never had one to deal with. With a sudden burst, I ripped the silver panels of my cottage down. Slowly, I approached them all, my blade in their sights. Three of them cowered into one another, seeking some sort of worthless comfort in these troubled times. “Say a word and I’ll kill you all!” I said, even despite the excellent fact I was going to anyways. I dove on top of one of them - he was clad in red and seemed to be the “tough guy” of them all. I slit his throat, ending his “tough” disposition. Soon, I had them all dispatched without a single whisper out of them. Matoran will believe anything - they are imbeciles. One must finish what they have started - that’s the phrase, is it not? Anyhow, I dragged their lifeless bodies into my cave so I could eat away at them. By this point, you know my methods - I need not give you the details again. Surely it would bore you to death. - Alas, it was nightfall - my time to strike on Archasis. With a delicious meal resting in my belly, I was ready to go and fetch myself future dinners. Slowly but surely I made my way up the hill through the forest into the village lines. Torches spaced evenly marked the border of the settlement, with several huts inside the invisible barriers. A bonfire in the center of Archasis was warming those helpless villagers...all the better. I prefer warm food to cold, and it had been a good amount of time since I had a hot, homemade meal. Now this is the life, I say. Hunting is such a rewarding sport - you should take it up if you have a good getaway plan and a psychotic mind. By this point, I began to take on a much more confident attitude, with my blade 33 degrees right of my hip. The slaying was about to begin. Before long I was standing next to the bonfire. Eventually, one of those half-wits looked over at me - I grinned at them right as they began to panic. I sliced their head almost perfectly in half with the knife. Some of those village idiots tried to strike me down with artisan-crafted spears and other hoity-toity luxuries made by hand - oh, how a Skakdi envies their ability to enjoy the finer things in life without ridicule or segregation from society. Hate had replaced my blood years ago, and it flowed through my veins as if I were born with it. Why should I not be allowed to live in a village simply because I am a Skakdi? How can a creature who believes some being named Mata Nui created the universe yet they treat his “creations” unequally? Oh, how I despise them. I respect starak spiders in which I devoured earlier more than I respect these unholy monsters. At least they taste better than those pests I dined on… The death toll rose ever so high that I believe at one point I lost count. I entered one hut, and there were at least six of the little parasites huddled up together hoping I wouldn’t find them - I killed them off singly, letting the others watch in horror as their friends were dispatched. The night went by so quickly. As they say, time flies when you are having fun. All of those sorrowful villagers were strung up onto a cart I found in the woods. Right before I left, I grabbed a rather large branch that had fallen from a tree and I stuck it into the bonfire. With all of my might, I hurled it into one of the abundant shacks, setting it ablaze. Repeating this four more times, the village would burn itself to the ground, eradicating all history of Archasis as well as all chances of using the settlement as a safehaven for other Matoran. All was in rot and ruin as I left with my cart, satisfied and ready to feast again. Chapter 4: Divide and Conquer Over the past few days, I had demolished seven different villages, collecting their villagers and storing their bodies in a cavern I had found. By this point, I could have a feast of nearly one-hundred of them if my stomach’s growling got the better of me. That island could be mine if I wanted it to be. Striking fear in the hearts of villagers was certainly my strong suit in this new, darker world. Truly, these Matoran brought it on themselves - if they hadn’t been so cruel to Skakdi, I don’t think we’d be such a grizzly culture. It is too late for apologies now, villagers. I craved power almost as much as I craved the taste of flesh these days. If I could just find out where the capital of this miserable land was, I would have taken the entire island by storm. - I had slept in that morning dreaming of the idea that I was among a field of villagers as I slayed them all in an increasingly brutal fashion. Heads flew everywhere, gore aplenty - ah, but you don’t want to hear about my dream. All I can say was that I woke up completely rejuvenated. It was raining so hard when I awoke that I was going to have to take a day off from hunting, which wasn’t a complete incident of problems - my shoulder was sprained carrying an obese villager onto my sled. Everything was just a matter of dividing and conquering at this point. Divide and conquer, divide and conquer... Chapter 5: A Knife in the Dark Now what I am about the tell you has occurred nearly a year after that last incident in my life - the divide and conquer methods I spoke of. Yes, I had performed several killings in that time, I figured I should tell you what got me in this infernal prison to begin with. So here I shall start - I was outrunning Vatyn (you shall know him as the green one in this tale - I was not informed of his name until the end of this tale) and a group of warriors, members of Shadowcaust Village. Why? Perhaps I have jumped too far into this tale - let me rewind a bit so your simple mind can comprehend this story better. - The night is always dark - it is a basic law in science that it happens to be that way. I had woken up from my slumber with an unsatisfiable craving for flesh - or at least, it was only satisfiable by eating at least three of those rats. The closest village I could find was one by the name of Shadowcaust - don’t ask me where they came up with that horrid name. How could those villagers even rest knowing that I was approaching to take three of their own and murder them? Oh that’s right - they didn’t know. With that, I proceeded unflinchingly as always and eventually reached a small hut - well, small in comparison to the others. It was a massive-scaled village - more my sized. By the looks of it, they were well off. As I entered the hovel, I realized something was off - the villager sleeping inside was distinctly my size. Not a Skakdi, but certainly my size. I was unsure whether I had hit the motherlode or the biggest disappointment ever - if he tasted like the villagers, I was well set. I drew my blade and stabbed at the sleeping villager, but missed the critical point of his skull that would kill him. I dragged my knife along his skin, causing him to scream terribly. Somehow, he managed to escape my clutch and run into the center of the village. His strong voice called out for help. As soon as I stepped out of the hut, I was greeted by a mob of angry villagers with torches. Yes, it sounds cliché, but it was the scenario I was in. One of them, a green-clad one, wielded a blade. “Get him, boys!” he shouted. Before I could even lap up another drop of blood from my kill, I ran off at full speed trying to evade this upset group of morons. As I sprinted away, I realized what had caught their attention - I had knocked over a great deal of tools and utensils in my victim’s hut, which surely woke up the whole village. In my escape, I jumped up and grabbed a tree branch and hung there until the mob caught up to me. I swung on it and kicked one of the mobsters down, providing me a temporary distraction that would get me ahead. Luckily, all of my time chasing Matoran had paid off - I wasn’t even tired and I had run a great deal already. Bio upon bio upon bio were passed beneath my feet. The muscles in my thighs and calves began to grow weary and slow. I found a large rock formation that I was able to rest in temporarily to keep my body from breaking. It ached so. It felt as if a kikanalo had sat down on me from the waist down. Before I knew it, I had drifted off to sleep. What felt like hours passed, and I was rudely awoken by that awful band of villagers. They grabbed me by the ankles and wrists and carried me as if I was some kind of stretcher for the injured. “Have you men gone mad!? I’m not a murderer! I found that villager in his hut dead and I-” “SHUT UP! We know who you are, Kalvost. Every village around here knows what you’ve done to innocent Matoran. We’re taking you to Farside Village to make a decision on what happens to you. I’m sure you are in for a grim fate...the Farside Council doesn’t take lightly to the likes of killers like you.” I decided my toothy mouth was best kept shut. The journey was a long one, especially in the dark and especially when you are laying face-up to the sky, suspended by your wrists and ankles. Let me tell you that you feel every little movement on the journey when you are held this way. We made a sudden stop, and I was let to the ground. I heard the villagers talking amongst themselves. When I tried to push myself up to make a break for it, I found my body was too weak to make any sort of movements. One of them kicked me in the side of the head. Another came down and gagged me with some terrible tasting cloth. I was then blindfolded - as if I could see much of anything right now anyways - with an equally bad smelling rag. I am almost certain I passed out at one point as I strictly recall not feeling anything over a stretch of land. Anyhow, we arrived at Farside Village after hours of travel. By this point, it was morning, and they took off my binds. Those oafs escorted me to the council where some sort of elder, I suppose they would call him approached me and looked me over. “Kalvost - good job boys.” he said. “The whole island has wanted him dead since he arrived here.” A burning hate sparked inside of me. It was in that moment that I felt no pain in my body anymore - just pure hatred for this elder who wanted me dead just because I was Skakdi. The Shadowcaust Villagers put me in a holding cell until the council had come to its decision on what to do with me. As always, my heart rate was steady - I was incapable of any sort of emotion, and I still am. Eventually, the elder who said that everyone wanted me dead emerged from the jury’s hut. “Before we make our final decision, we must hear a word from Kalvost.” he said. My cage was dragged into the courtroom, and eight somber faces looked at me as they expected me to spill out my guts. “It all started when I was on the beach. I was facing rejection from several of your own villagers. They discriminated me for being of a species I had no choice in being. My hatred for these villagers has caused me to kill them, and more recently eat them. If it were the other way around and Skakdi were harassing Matoran, it would be an outrage...but harassing Skakdi seems to be fair game anymore around here. It’s racial bias!” “Fair enough,” Mazil commented. “You have a valid point, and I respect you for that. However, it does not erase the monstrosities you’ve committed in your past.” The council spoke among one another, and they eventually decided on a verdict of me being imprisoned for life in their highest security prison. And here I am today, seventy-six brutal years and 364 miserable days later, hating the villagers with the same amount as passion as before, if not more. Carvings on rocks litter my cell nowadays as a way to remember the time I’ve served here. Some day, I’ll make a break for it…it was all because of a knife in the dark that caused me to be here in the first place….Oh, excuse me...it appears I have a visitor...and he’s not alone. By the looks of him, he’s a Toa - a mongrel of a soldier who calls himself a hero. “Hey Toa,” I called to him. “What do you want, prisoner?” he responded. “I think there is something you should know,” I began. “You probably know the silly tale of the three oh-so-mighty great beings who are said to have created this island. The tale that speaks of their decision to give power over life and death to two individuals who then got power-hungry and hand to be banished. That tale is made up for little Matoran. There weren’t any great beings involved. A long time ago there were three powerful Toa. You already know about two of them; the ones able to control life and death. There was peace for some time, but the three Toa had an… “argument”. At the end, there was only one left standing. It was the one who wanted to protect. The other two were sealed away so their power wouldn’t harm anyone ever again. However, one had sworn to come back - the one you know as “Nuva” - lead by six Toa, twisted images of heroes known in a land far away...but I suppose that’s your tale to continue” Ah yes...but I suppose that is another tale in itself...I suppose one day I shall tell you. Someday I shall allow that Toa to know what it is like to be under the carver’s knife. The End Trivia * Kopakamata97 regards this story as being repetitive, and agrees with Vorred's opinion about it. Appearances * Kalvost Category:User:Kopakamata97